


I loved him in mine.

by Lydia_E_Nheers



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV), Inspector Morse - Colin Dexter
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Morse Whump, Unrequited Love, fixed it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_E_Nheers/pseuds/Lydia_E_Nheers
Summary: Morse has just found out that Max has died when Lewis walks into his office.





	I loved him in mine.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. I believe that Max DeBryn deserved a better send off in the show, so I sort of combined his death in the book "The Way Through the Woods" with the show (moving the death from 1992 to 1995 to more accurately match the show's time line, taking Greyling out and inserting Laura to more accurately portray what happened in the book) and combined those with Endeavour. 
> 
> Not beta'd, not britpicked and written on my phone. I hope you enjoy.

Sargent Lewis had entered Morse's office without knocking just after nine am, Sunday morning on the nineteenth of July, 1995. The door was not usually closed, but Lewis didn't think anything of it.

Morse himself was in his office, seated in his usual black leather office chair, facing away from the door and almost at once, Lewis was conscious of a small choking noise coming from his direction and he could see that Morse's thin shoulders were shaking.

Lewis could see that he had obviously intruded on a private moment and so turned to silently slip out when Morse spoke; voice wet and tight. "For gods sake, Lewis, come in. You've caught me anyway."

"How'd you know it was me, sir?" He asked, coming in fully and shutting the door.

Morse turned and Lewis could see the reddened eyes and the tears he couldn't wipe away fast enough. "You're the only one who wouldn't knock." A ghost of a smile crossed his face and was gone again instantly. He waved a slightly shaking hand at the chair opposite the desk.

" What's happened?" He asked taking his seat.

"Max died this morning." Morse looked around in vain for a tissue (he was not the sort to keep them on his desk) and Lewis fished a handkerchief from his pocket and silently handed it to him, and he took it with a nod of thanks before wiping his face.

"I'm sorry, sir." Lewis couldn't really think of anything to say.

Morse suddenly pocketed the handkerchief, stood up and said; "Sod it, we're going to the pub."

"It's nine am on a Sunday." Lewis gently reminded him.

"Fine. A cup of a coffee and a walk." He replied tersely.

Lewis immediately stood and left the office for the canteen while Morse stood by his window, waiting.

The two men walked down the street in silence, sipping their hot drinks. The case, while not forgotten by any means, was for that moment last on Morse's mind. He was far away. To his first day in Oxford as a matter of fact. To a suspicious suicide. It was the day he was to meet Maxwell DeBryn.

They eventually sat down on a bench, overlooking the river. How they got there, Morse didn't know, but Lewis must have gently guided him while he thought about that day thirty years ago.

"You know, Lewis. I've known Max since my first day with Oxford city police." He sipped his coffee.

"Really, sir?" Lewis looked over at the sunlight sparkling off the water. "Must've been a long time ago."

"Hmm yes. A very long time ago. A lifetime, in fact. I was with Carshall-Newtown. It was 1965 then. I had only been a uniform constable for two years before I became a DC. But I was on the verge of quitting."

"Why, sir?"

"I don't know, really. I felt a bit...rootless in those days. I had become disillusioned with the whole thing. After I left Oxford, I just sort of drifted along, unable to really find my feet. But then this case came along. This girl...." his voice drifted off as he tried to remember her name. He remembered in a flash. He'd never be able to wholly forget that case. For good and for bad, it was the start of everything.

"Mary. Mary Tremlett. She disappeared. A few officers were transferred to Cowley to help. Almost as soon as I got there, there was a suspicious but eventually related suicide. I was sent to investigate." A real smile crossed his face as he remembered Max, young and not quite so jaded yet. Just like himself back then.

"That's where he met. He told me I'd never make much of a detective if I couldn't look death in the eye. Then called me a necrophobic. Which; fair point. I fainted in the morgue at my first autopsy. And I basically nicely called him an arsehole. And we've been friends ever since."

Lewis laughed at that. He almost never heard him swear. "He was a good man." He finally said softly.

"He was." Morse reached into his jacket pocket. "I visited him last night after he was brought to hospital. I asked him to hang on til today. I was going to bring him a little scotch. And this." He pulled out an old, creased photograph and unfolded it before handing it to Lewis.

There were three men and a woman standing side by side in the photograph. The woman was laughing and the men were all smiling.

The photo was taken in a pub, that much was obvious from the blurred but recognizable bar and taps behind their shoulders. He blinked at the old back and white photo, and instantly pointed to the tall, thin man standing at the end, next to a shorter, heavier set man, though not as heavy as the third man at the end, next to the slim, attractive woman who stood in the middle. "Is that you, sir?" He was the only who's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Morse nodded, "that's me alright."

Lewis could see the intensity, if not the colour of the eyes of the man in the photograph clearly reflected in the eyes of his chief inspector. His hair was an artless, almost curly array tumbling across his forehead, giving him an almost windswept look. The suit was obviously cheap and ill fitting, as was the coat. This was definitely taken before his first promotion.

"We had just won a pub quiz." Morse commented.

"Didn't know you were a pub quiz type, sir."

"I'm not. Trewlove, the WPC dragged me along." He pointed to her laughing face. "She was a newcomer at that time, but she was good. One of the best. She at this time was a constable but left Oxford for London not too long later." He pointed to the man next to her, the shortest of the three men. "That's Max."

"He still went in for bow ties even in those days." Lewis replied quietly, but smiling fondly at the photo.

"Always. Even knelt over a body. He loved to fish though. He'd take his tie off for that. Never saw the point of fishing myself."

"I dunno sir. It's relaxing enough."

"If I want to relax, I'll do it with The Ring Cycle and a glass of Glenfiddich."

"Whatever you say, sir." Lewis pointed at the hitherto unidentified man. "Who's this?" He was a tall, heavy man with short hair and looking every bit like his mum had picked out his clothes.

"That, my dear Lewis, is Chief Superintendent Strange."

Lewis' eyebrows rose so high, they almost disappeared into his hair. "Really?!"

"Yes. In those days, he was Detective Sargent Strange of course. Actually, when I first met him, he was a uniform constable."

"So you were actually above him in rank then?"

"For a while, yes." His voice grew a little hard and he took the photo back and reinserted it into his pocket. "Strange knew how to play the game, whereas I was unaware one was even happening."

"Ahh." He didn't comment any further, lest he upset him any more.

"You know Lewis," Morse started after a stretch of silence during which they both drained their coffees. "Max was the only one that understood me in a way. Save for you. But back then, he was the only one at all."

"How d'you mean, sir?" Lewis asked.

"Max, like me understood what it was like to be outside looking in. We both liked to read. He was a loner. An odd one out. A bit of a...queer fish if you get my meaning."

Realization dawned quickly. "You mean Max was gay?"

"Yes." Morse said quietly. Max wouldn't exactly mind him betraying his secret now.

"Did he tell you?"

"Not in so many words." Morse looked up at the cloudy sky. "But I knew. There was an understanding between us."

Lewis' eyes widened a little. He'd never have suspected it of him. Not Morse. It wouldn't matter a single bit if Morse were that way, but he still would be surprised the way he looked at women. Though he supposed, he could be bisexual. He shook himself out of there thoughts. It didn't matter. "Were you two...?"

"No. But he..." his voice trailed off for a moment. "There were feelings. Unrequited ones. We never spoke of it. But I knew he loved me in that way. And I..." he felt tears rising in his eyes again and before he could stop it, they spilled over. He was getting weepy in his old age. "I loved him in mine." He managed before putting his face in his hands, body shuddering as sobs wracked through him. 

He felt Lewis' firm yet gentle and steady hand rest upon his shoulder, his body pressing reassuringly solid at his side.

Later, Lewis and an oddly aged Morse walked silently back to HQ. The case would have to resume now, and Morse needed to meet with Max's protégé; Laura was her name, to go over what they had been working on the previous day. Life was going to continue on without Maxwell DeBryn, Morse knew.

Years later, when he himself was laying dead in the morgue, Lewis had kissed his forehead and said goodbye. Eventually, he was handed Morse's wallet. In amongst his credit card and driving license, and a few pounds in cash was that same beaten up old photograph. Taken in a moment of triumph when the people in it were young and the world was full of promise and the days seemed to stretch out in front of them forever. He took it and slipped it into his pocket.

Two men in that photo were dead now, and now those two men wherever they were, were finally reunited.

And at that thought, Lewis smiled.


End file.
